Twisted Nerve
by TwistedGoth
Summary: AU. Jealousy and hatred are powerful forces. Being second-best to a younger sibling is the biggest disgrace to someone like Lovino; in life, love, success, and popularity. And when Feliciano finds someone new, he might wish that he had never introduced him to Lovino in the first place. Because jealousy turns to hate, and hate can turn so easily into obsession. Dark Romano x Germany
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **: Here I am again. XD You guys can't ever get rid of me can you? Decided to go ahead and put this one up, since I'm so slow at updating anyway.

**Pairings** : Main is Romano x Germany (yes, that's the correct order) , some brief, mild Italy x Germany. Other characters are Spain, Prussia, Rome, Austria, Hungary, maybe some England and France depending on how I feel.

**Warnings! **: AU. Human characters. Set in 1970's Europe. Violence, language, **insanity**, gloomy themes, scary shit, self-deprecation, jealousy, character death, misery, angst, a very bad case of sibling rivalry, love triangles, etc. Again, my usual stuff.

Warning! Warning! Warning! **THIS IS VERY DARK**. You may see some things in here that you never hope to see ever, ever again. This is probably the darkest of my Hetalia stories (like **Zachem Ya **levels, yo. XD) so it's back to my favorite old theme : making everyone miserable and crazy for a long time. You know that's my _real _talent. And yes I like Romano as a character. Yes, I know he's not totally batshit. But why be presented with such a complex character if you can't play with him a little? Whoever made the rules about what's crazy and what's not, anyway?

So, in conclusion : don't hate me forever, and, **no, **you should not attempt anything in this story if you are trying to make someone like you. EVER.

Thanks for reading, drop a line if you can. You guys are all my sunshine, after all. VERY SLOW UPDATES. Longer chapters after this.

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**TWISTED NERVE**

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**Chapter 1**

Lovino would never forget the first time he had laid eyes on the man that would later come to dominate his thoughts.

He was certain of that.

As long as he lived, he would never forget that day.

Bright hair.

A deep voice.

Pale skin.

Maybe he remembered it so clearly because everything up until then had just been an endless monotony, like driving down an empty highway in the dead of night.

No light.

Nothing ever changed.

Everything looked the same.

Nothing had turned out like he had expected it to. Nothing had really ever worked out for him.

But that was something that he was almost used to.

They said that there was a black sheep in every family, and he had all but accepted being the one in his.

The oldest of the children, and yet somehow the least favorite.

That wasn't right.

He should have been the favorite.

But he wasn't. Feliciano was. Always had been, ever since the moment he had been born.

Lovino remembered sitting at home with his grandfather, five years old, eagerly awaiting the arrival of his new little brother. He had sat there all night, pacing the living room and running to the window at every little noise, and when his parents had finally come back in the early morning, he had been the first at the door.

He had been so excited then.

What were the chances of he and his little brother sharing the same birthday? They were linked by more than blood.

Brotherhood.

He had been enthralled the moment he had peered up into his mother's arms and saw Feliciano for the first time.

That quickly faded.

It came in the little things first. His mother was so busy with the baby that she didn't have time to take him to the park anymore. When his father got home from work, it was straight up the stairs to see the baby.

Lovino stood downstairs, looking up, and could feel the shifting of the wind.

Displacement.

He strove harder than ever to gain his parents' attention.

But all they ever talked about was Feliciano.

The joy faded into resignation.

The older he got, the stronger the dislike became.

Because Feliciano turned out to be better at everything.

Better in school. Better at making friends. Better at sports. Better in the arts.

His parents couldn't stop gushing.

'Feliciano got top marks!'

'Did you hear, Lovino? Feliciano made captain of the football team!'

'Did you see the painting Feliciano made in school? Isn't it beautiful?'

Every day, the same. The only time his parents ever gushed over _him_ was when he was standing at Feliciano's side, and his father would place a hand upon either one of their shoulders, and say to someone who had asked, 'My two sons! Look just like me, don't they? They carry on the best name in town!'

When they were out together, it was 'them'.

When it was just Lovino around, they only spoke about Feliciano.

In the worse moments, the tune changed.

'Why can't you be more like your brother?'

'Feliciano doesn't do these kinds of things, Lovino.'

'At least we don't have to worry about Feliciano like we do about you.'

Dislike turned to envy.

Envy was worse.

Feliciano was his brother. He _had _to love him.

But that sure as hell didn't mean he had to like him.

When he was old enough and capable enough, he moved out of his parents house and into a tiny flat, so small that there was only bedroom and the kitchen and living room were practically one and the same.

He called them all the time, if only because he was lonely.

It hurt a little bit that Feliciano always wanted to talk to him far more than his parents did.

Feliciano adored him.

And he didn't know why.

He'd never been nice to Feliciano, not since he'd been six years old. He'd never gone out of his way to bestow brotherly affection. He'd never been there when Feliciano had needed him.

But Feliciano still hung up the phone with a sincere, 'I miss you! I hope we can see each other soon. I love you.'

He only ever answered, 'Yeah.'

He couldn't say those words, and not only because it was too embarrassing.

He did not return such affections.

It wasn't Feliciano's fault that he was good at everything he did. It wasn't Feliciano's fault that he was the family favorite.

Feliciano hadn't asked for any of that.

It was Feliciano, more than anyone else, who seemed to realize that Lovino was still a part of the family.

That made his feelings a bit more complicated.

It was easy to dislike Feliciano, and yet disliking him meant having absolutely no one.

No one.

That had been years ago.

Feliciano was grown now, and out of the house.

Like in everything else, Feliciano's house was better than Lovino's. Big, and well-designed.

Feliciano had a better job, as a successful painter.

And Lovino just passed from job to job before finally settling down into a rather dull routine of working in a mechanic's shop.

Better than nothing. It kept him on his feet, anyway, and paid the bills.

Not the grand destiny he had planned for himself in childhood.

Feliciano had overshadowed all of his dreams.

All of that had been bad enough.

Then something else had happened, one Christmas at their parents' house.

It had been sleeting outside. The bright twinkling of the lights on the tree had not been enough to salvage what should have been a cheery occasion.

Feliciano made a confession.

His mother had been more than displeased when Feliciano had gone up to her that day, at twenty-one, and said, right in front of the Christmas tree, 'Mamma, I'm just gonna say it— I'm seeing a man.'

His mother almost hadn't understood at first.

Then it hit like a train.

She had stood there for a moment, and then her hands flew up to her mouth to hide her gasp.

Their father hadn't been in the room. That was for the best.

Feliciano had waited in front of her, looking very determined and yet a little nervous.

Lovino remembered the horrible silence, and then his mother had only let her hands fall, and then she had nodded her head. And Lovino remembered, too, how surprised he had been, not only that Feliciano had been hiding such a secret for so long, but that it was a secret he himself shared.

Who could have known?

And it surprised him even more that Feliciano, younger and so sensitive, had come to terms with it and been able to word it and then _confess _it before he could really even accept it.

He couldn't even say it to himself.

He'd never known that Feliciano was like him.

Like _that_.

Maybe because they had both been so good at hiding it.

He'd spent so many years pretending to be a ladies man that no one would have ever thought him anything other than. He went out of his way to croon at girls on the street, even going so far as to follow a few of them until he had gotten in a few good compliments and then gotten their numbers.

But he'd never called them.

He whistled at girls in bars, and sometimes he danced with them, but when they led him into a corner and tried to kiss him, he made up excuses about having to leave.

No one had ever known.

He'd never known that Feliciano was the same.

Feliciano had acted the same way he had; a womanizer, so to speak, chasing after women and always, _always_, talking about how pretty the girl he had just met was.

On that day, it had struck him that maybe Feliciano had only done that because he had seen Lovino doing it.

Emulating his big brother.

Copycat.

Needless to say, his mother had finally told his father, and the rest of the holiday had been rather strained.

In all honesty, Lovino had expected his father to make a scene and disinherit Feliciano altogether.

The worst part of him had _hoped _it would happen.

Then he would be the favorite.

The better son.

But Feliciano's power over their parents had been greater than Lovino had anticipated, and after a few weeks of chilliness, his father got over it and still called Feliciano 'son'.

Huh.

He wouldn't pretend he hadn't been disappointed.

He had wanted Feliciano out, so he could be in.

That new upset had faded after a year or so, and instead of lamenting an opportunity lost, he took another path.

It had taken him _so _long to plan it.

But when Lovino had finally gathered up the courage to follow in Feliciano's footsteps and tell his mother the truth, the reaction he had gotten had not been quite so mellow.

Instead, his mother had collapsed against the kitchen table and burst into tears, and Lovino could hear her moan from within her folded arms, '_Oh_! Why both of them? Why both of them? It _can't _be both of you!'

She had been too distraught to speak any more.

Lovino had stood there above her, and instead of that dreamy sense of disbelief that had accompanied Feliciano's confession, there was only a dismal dreariness.

She had just cried and cried.

Those words ran in his mind as she sobbed.

'Why both of them?'

He shouldn't have said anything at all.

He should have stayed silent.

He sat down at the table, staring blankly ahead as he waited for her to come around.

She did, half an hour later, and when she looked over at him, her eyes red and puffy, he had felt shamed.

Not exhilarated that he had finally come to terms with it.

Not happy.

Not relieved.

Not even anger.

Just shame.

She reached out to take his hands, and finally managed to say, in a thick voice, 'Please promise me, Lovino. Promise me you won't be one of those checche, promise you won't. You'll break your father's heart.'

His father?

Her only concern was for his father.

Hadn't she cared how much that word had _hurt_?

How unfair.

So, he could only pull his hand from hers and wander off, disheartened and wounded, and wonder how differently things would have gone if he had told her before Feliciano had.

Maybe it wouldn't have mattered.

Everyone liked Feliciano more, anyway.

After that, his mother rarely picked up the phone when he called.

His father wouldn't talk to him at all.

And he just wanted to sit them down and say to them, 'it's somethin' in _your _genes that made me this way! It's not my fault!'

It wasn't like he had woken up one morning and decided that he didn't like girls anymore.

Not fair.

But they still talked to Feliciano.

He remembered the day he had sat down to a rare family dinner, and it had been so tense and so silent, and finally his father couldn't take it anymore, and had muttered, bitterly, 'Don't have any boyfriends to bring around?'

His mother had averted her eyes.

Lovino, always so quick to anger, had started an argument.

Because it wasn't fair.

He had stood up, and he and his father were in each others' faces, screaming, and he didn't remember all of the words exchanged.

But he did remember one thing.

His father taking a step back, and saying, 'I don't ever want to see you again. I wish now you'd never have been born. At least I can still be proud of Feliciano. What have you ever done? Get out.'

Maybe his father's heart had been broken when he had learned that neither of his sons were 'right'.

But Lovino's heart had broken that day.

So he'd left, and he hadn't looked back.

Feliciano had followed him, and tried to grab his arm.

A mistake.

He'd been too hurt and too angry and too volatile, and _everything_ terrible in his life had been the fault of Feliciano, one way or another.

Feliciano ruined everything.

He'd whirled around, and punched Feliciano in the nose, barely hanging around to watch him fall to the ground before stalking off.

And he had never spoken to his parents again.

He had been twenty-seven.

Feliciano had showed up at his flat a month later, and when Lovino had opened the door, he had noticed immediately the crooked angle of Feliciano's nose.

He'd broken it.

It had been that, and that alone, that had led him to open the door and let his brother inside.

Brother.

Through it all, there was one single, inescapable fact.

Feliciano was his brother.

And he had to love him.

Feliciano brushed off an inquiry about his nose, and laughed. 'Don't worry about it!' he'd said, quite cheerfully. 'You know, I think you did me a favor! People tell me all the time that it makes me look really handsome.'

Feliciano, even when joking, still had a way of making him feel second-best.

That Feliciano's imperfections still somehow became his advantages.

He hated that.

But Feliciano was the only family he had now, so he started up a relationship with him again, and spoke to him every so often on the phone.

Life had been dull.

Dreary.

Sometimes, he'd gone to bed at night wishing he wouldn't even wake up in the morning.

And yet, somehow, someway, he had found someone after that.

Antonio.

He'd never forget Antonio, even though later on he would want to.

A year of having someone sleeping in his bed.

A year of not feeling so alone.

Of not feeling like a complete failure.

Like he really belonged in the world.

It had been short lived.

Antonio was great, in every sense.

It had been _him _that had been the problem. Him and his big fuckin' mouth, and his bad temper, and his inability to concede anything, and his inability to compromise and try to make things work.

Antonio had tried his best.

It just hadn't been enough.

The last memory he had of Antonio was of his back, bags in hand as he stormed out of the house, fury incarnate, and he screeched over his shoulder as he left, 'You're a real son of a bitch! You're gonna be alone _forever_!'

That was the last he'd seen of Antonio.

And, hell. Couldn't blame him.

Maybe he'd been a little hard to handle.

But it didn't mean it hurt any less.

Alone again.

He'd stood there by the door long after Antonio had gone, hoping that he would come back.

He never did.

After that, he didn't even bother trying. What was the point?

Antonio had said so.

He would be alone forever.

His mother wouldn't speak to him.

His father had disowned him.

Feliciano pitied him.

Only his grandfather spoke to him, but he was so far away that it may as well have been solitude.

Antonio was gone.

Life was _nothing_.

Just static, and silence.

Everything looked the same.

Until the day Feliciano brought over someone new.

Lovino wouldn't ever forget that day.

Bright light through the door.

The first thing he saw was pale hair.

Feliciano saying, 'Lovino, come here! I want you to meet someone!'

He had been twenty-nine when life had started back up again.

A deep voice.

'Nice to meet you.'

Funny how things happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **: Holy fast update, Batman! Don't expect this very often. At all.

Thanks for reading. :D

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**Chapter 2**

The first thing he remembered feeling was surprise.

He had been minding his own business when the doorbell had rang that day.

A warm, sunny day in late summer.

Who could ever know when the day would come that changed everything?

He certainly hadn't expected anything great that day.

He had gotten up in the morning, eaten a little, trudged off to work, and spent the day in a long, constant gloom.

He hated his job.

He hated his boss.

He hated his coworkers.

Probably not the healthiest thing.

Every time he walked into that dingy little shop, he rolled up his sleeves, went over to his corner, and tried to pass the day without punching anyone in the face. It didn't always work, and when one of the guys he worked with asked him out of the blue why he wasn't married yet, he had thrown his wrench into the corner and turned around to shove the hapless man back onto the concrete floor.

He didn't know why. It had been an innocent question, not meant to cause any harm.

He always started fights.

That was why he couldn't ever hold a job, and he had been lucky that his boss, for whatever unholy reason, had only sent him home for a week and then let him come back.

Such instability sometimes made it difficult to be on his own, and it was mortifying more than anything else in the world when he had to pick up the phone and call his grandfather and ask for money just to keep the power from being turned off.

Embarrassing, and shameful.

His parents pretended he didn't exist, so he couldn't turn to them.

But his grandfather always came through, and he told him all the time, 'If you ever want to, you're welcome here with me, Lovino.'

He loved his grandfather, but he wanted to make it on his own.

His pride was one factor, and distance was another.

His grandfather was down in Rome, and he was far above up in little Bergamo.

He didn't care much for change, and after living in this city his entire life, the thought of uprooting was a little frightening. His childhood home was barely ten minutes away.

What a shame. So close, and yet he couldn't ever go over there again.

Feliciano was here, too, a little farther away than his parents.

A twenty minute drive.

He never made it, choosing instead to just wait for Feliciano to call him on the phone.

He didn't really consider himself antisocial. Maybe apathetic. Maybe stubborn.

Maybe he was a little bit of a loner.

It wasn't really that he _wanted _to be alone.

Just happened.

Feliciano showed up at his house maybe once a month or so, and Lovino always opened the door for him and let him inside. Sometimes, he did so with a little bit of embarrassment.

He and Feliciano looked so much alike, and yet they were exceedingly different.

Sure, they had nearly the same color hair, and the same eye color, and they had nearly the same shade of skin, almost the same height and the same stature, and anyone who saw them side by side would have known in a second that they were brothers.

It was easier for him to focus on the differences.

Feliciano stood a fraction of an inch taller, his hands were smooth, his fingers longer, his hair glossier and finer, his eyes a little rounder and lashes a little thicker, his nose more regal (well, had been, anyway), his voice a little more pleasant and attitude much more positive.

Lovino was stockier, hands larger and rougher, hair a bit darker and a bit more coarse, his eyes a little narrower and slightly more almond-shaped, his nose bumped up a bit towards the bridge, his shoulders were broader and his jaw squarer, and his voice was not nearly as easy on the ears, harsh and scratchy and unfriendly.

Feliciano was more handsome.

Lovino was more abrasive.

Feliciano spoke with a clean, accent-free speech.

Lovino talked like the inner-city men, laden with slang.

Feliciano dressed neatly, in expensive clothes and ties.

Lovino stepped out in wrinkled shirts and jeans.

Feliciano had a nice car, tended well and glossed to perfection.

Lovino drove a car with more rust than paint.

Feliciano was artistic.

Lovino was physical.

They were not the same.

When he looked at Feliciano, he did not see himself, no matter what others said.

He saw his mother.

When he looked at himself, he did not see Feliciano.

He saw his father.

How could they have ever really been friends?

It felt strange and tense whenever Feliciano came over, and Lovino had to watch him look around the house with a raised brow, and even though he never said anything, Lovino knew what he was thinking.

That this small, cramped house was hardly even habitable.

Sitting at the kitchen table with him was even worse, when Lovino pulled out a bottle of cheap vodka to be hospitable, and Feliciano only said, 'Don't worry, I brought some for us!'

And the bottles Feliciano brought were usually champagnes, probably worth enough money to pay his rent for a month or two.

How differently things had turned out for them.

He wouldn't pretend it didn't bother him a little, that Feliciano's being able to slather a pretty scene on a canvas garnered him so much money when Lovino came home covered in sweat and motor-oil and with only a few bills in his pockets.

It bothered him a lot, actually.

He hated that he felt like Feliciano was looking down at him.

He was the older.

Feliciano should have looked up to him instead.

He dreaded the days when Feliciano showed up.

He had to try too hard to pretend that everything was going alright for him, if only so that Feliciano wouldn't get that look of worry on his face and lean forward and say, 'If you ever need anything, I'm not too far away.'

Asking his grandfather for money was bad enough.

But he'd keel over dead before he asked Feliciano for _anything_.

Anything at all.

Luckily, such occurrences were few and far between, and it was a rare event when anyone knocked on his door.

Which was why it surprised him so much when Feliciano came over that day, when he'd been inside Lovino's house only the week before.

An increase of visits was not exactly welcome.

Knocking.

He sat on the couch, flipping through channels on the television, freshly bathed from a long day of tinkering with cars and motors, and he hadn't really been expecting anyone.

He thought about just ignoring it.

The knocking came again, and then a muffled voice through the door.

"Lovino! You home? It's me!"

Me.

Yeah, he knew who it was.

Wasn't really in the mood, but he hauled himself up to his feet anyway and trudged to the door, figuring that the sooner he got Feliciano in, the sooner he got him out.

"I'm comin' in!"

Before he even made it to the door, it was pushed open, and Feliciano poked in his head.

Lovino fell still where he stood, and very nearly huffed.

Great. Now Feliciano just came in whenever he wanted.

Time to start lockin' the door.

"There you are!" he said, as he slunk inside, and Lovino shrugged a shoulder, trying to make it clear that he had neither been expecting nor wanting any company.

Feliciano smiled over at him, and it was then that Lovino realized that he was not alone.

He could see a gleam of hair from behind the half-closed door.

And the strange smile on Feliciano's face was not a good thing.

"Lovino, come here. I want you to meet someone."

Someone.

No one else had ever stepped foot in this house.

Except Antonio.

He was really surprised.

A little angry.

How rude, to bring a stranger over and not even call first.

He barely had any food in the house.

Feliciano, seeing that he was making no effort to walk over, finally opened the door all the way and dragged someone inside.

He could hear Feliciano's whispered, "Don't be so nervous."

The first thing Lovino saw was very bright hair, lit up by the merciless sun from outside.

When the door shut behind them, the sunlight was gone, and he could see.

Pale skin. Blond hair. Very light eyes. Tall.

A man.

It took a minute for him to understand.

Feliciano had brought over a man.

Not a friend. Feliciano would never bring a friend over.

This was something much more.

Something that was anything but fleeting.

The man stood there a step behind Feliciano, arms loose at his sides as he held a bag and eyes constantly shifting back and forth in obvious anxiety, and the first thing that Lovino thought of was that Feliciano had brought this man over here to show him off.

Showing off.

As if Feliciano needed to.

This must have been Feliciano's boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

He _hated_ that word. Any notion of having a 'boyfriend' had been completely ruined by his father.

Feliciano's man.

That sounded better.

Less shameful.

Whatever he could be called, Feliciano would never bring someone over to meet his brother unless there was every intention on both parts of this being a very long and very serious relationship.

It didn't surprise him at all that Feliciano had found himself in a stable partnership.

They must have been seeing each other for a long time for Feliciano to risk exposing him to Lovino.

He couldn't help but feel, a little, that Feliciano brought this man over to say, 'Look, I've got someone and you don't.'

How unfair.

He stood there, and Feliciano tried to engage in a rather tense introduction.

The first feeling had been surprise.

"Lovino, this is Ludwig."

The next thing he felt was that old twinge of dislike.

Because Ludwig, standing there so silently, was tall and well-built and well-bred and almost alarmingly handsome.

Figures.

Feliciano had to have the best.

What a good-looking couple they made, standing there together, both dressed neatly and cleanly, and Feliciano's dark hair and eyes and skin complemented his counterpart's paleness very nicely.

Too nicely.

And when the man spoke for the first time, Lovino heard first the very deep, rumbling voice, and then he heard the odd accent, one that Feliciano no doubt found charming.

"Nice to meet you."

Weird 'r's. Mispronunciation.

Feliciano probably gushed over him when they were alone.

Enough to make him sick.

Nice to meet you.

The sentiment was not mutual.

When Feliciano's catch held up his hand politely, Lovino just stared at it, and didn't move to take it.

A tense silence.

After a moment, the hand was lowered in embarrassment, and Feliciano's eyes narrowed in warning as he sent Lovino a nasty look.

Ha.

Like he was afraid of Feliciano.

Instead of saying something nice, he turned to Feliciano and said, in a clipped voice, "I'm surprised you brought him over here. Why don't you take him to meet mom and dad?"

There was an awkward pause, as the man shifted his weight in apprehension and seemed to want to flee, and Feliciano lowered his voice.

"Well. I didn't think that would be a good idea."

"How come?"

Feliciano looped his thumbs in his belt, and said, simply, "He's German."

Ah.

_Ludwig_. Right.

That was all the explanation he needed.

Their father had spent the better part of their lives telling them how much he hated Germans and trying to convince them why they should too, even if his reasoning hadn't ever been very sound. Apparently, the lesson hadn't taken very well.

Feliciano obviously didn't care.

And, well, Lovino didn't see the point.

Why hate this man just because he was German, when there were obviously so many more _valid _reasons to hate him?

Like the way he was handsome and tall and looked impressive without even trying.

Like the way Feliciano obviously cared about him.

Or the way Feliciano smiled at him.

The way he no doubt made Feliciano happy.

Those were better reasons.

He looked the man up and down, and Feliciano, trying to avoid embarrassment, led him past Lovino and into the kitchen. The uninvited blond looked quickly over his shoulder as they went, and when he met Lovino's eyes, he appeared abashed and looked away.

Clearly, he had been expecting a much more amicable encounter.

Well, Lovino was a master at disappointing.

Why stop now?

He trailed behind them, and went to Feliciano's side at the counter, where the bag that the other had been holding was being opened.

"Have you eaten yet?" Feliciano asked, striving to keep the mood from sinking, and Lovino didn't even bother to answer; Feliciano was already pulling out groceries anyway.

Usurping his kitchen.

"I wish you'd've called first," he grumbled, as the blond behind them sat himself down carefully at the table when Feliciano called over his shoulder that it was okay to do so.

Brushing off his words, Feliciano turned back to him, as he continued to pull food out of the bag, and sent him a hopeful look.

"I thought we could make dinner together," he began, his voice low and soft, "You know. Like we used to when we were younger. Remember?"

He did.

They used to stay in the kitchen frequently together, pitching in to make meals when their mother gave them permission to do so.

When they'd been younger.

They were older now, and they hadn't cooked together for at least ten years.

More.

Those times had gone.

He didn't know why Feliciano was attempting to recreate old moments of brotherhood.

But, with a strange man at the table and bags of food on the counter, he didn't really have much of a choice.

He let Feliciano turn on the stove and chop up produce, and gave very little input or effort, choosing instead to look back at the guest behind, who looked nervous, and out of place, hands clasped down in his lap politely as he looked around and stayed completely silent.

Lovino, far from feeling pity, was agitated.

He wasn't cut out to be a host, and Feliciano knew that.

Feliciano tried to make small talk as he cooked, and looked back every so often at his companion to give a reassuring smile.

Lovino leaned back against the counter, and tried to study Feliciano's companion without being so obvious that Feliciano would poke him with a knife.

Some men could be figured out by appearance alone.

Not this one.

Looking at him, Lovino couldn't tell who he was, what he did, where he'd come from or why, or what he was thinking.

Nice clothes. Good manners. Big hands. Quiet.

Nothing very obvious about him.

He could have been anything from a doctor to a librarian to a lawyer to a damn construction worker.

For all it mattered.

That was all for Feliciano to know.

He didn't care.

He had no plans to get to know this man, no matter how important he was to Feliciano.

An hour of strained chatter, and they found themselves sitting down to a dinner.

It had been a long time since he had had dinner with anyone.

He had wanted to keep it that way.

Feliciano sat his chair very close to his handsome blond 'friend's, and Lovino had every intention of eating as quickly as possible and then shoving them out of the door.

Silverware clinking on plates.

Feliciano spoke every so often.

Lovino did not.

They sat there at the table in a very awkward silence, and Feliciano looked over at him from time to time, and sent Lovino a look of annoyance whenever questions were ignored.

It was Feliciano's fault.

Why had he even bothered to bring anyone over?

He finished his plate before the others did, and leaned back in his chair to watch them in an unnerving fashion.

The poor guy Feliciano had dragged over was squirming in his seat.

Since he couldn't get rid of them yet, Lovino tried another tactic.

Harassment.

"So," he said, engaging in conversation for the first time, "How'd you two meet?"

Feliciano glanced up, and said, "His brother. Ah, he came down one day to buy some paintings for his house, and, well..." Feliciano sent the other a coy look and a smile that bordered on a leer, and summed up, "And he brought Ludwig with him."

"You don't say," he drawled, and he was not very enthralled with this love story.

If Feliciano said, 'I wanted to paint him and wound up on the couch instead,' he might have had to reach across the table and slap him.

Luckily, Feliciano seemed content to leave it at that.

He turned his eyes over to Ludwig, and tried to put him on the spot a little.

"How long have you been down here?"

The quiet blond looked up, seeming a little startled, and said, lowly, "Ah. A year."

And that was it.

...okay.

Didn't talk much, that was for sure.

Feliciano elaborated, "His brother's job brought him down here. They lived together, so Ludwig just kinda tagged along. His Italian's getting pretty good, I think."

"You like it here?"

The German shifted, and nodded his head.

As before, Feliciano took over explanation.

"He's started looking for a job around town, but I told him not to find anything too permanent, because who knows when his brother will get moved around again."

"What's your brother do?"

The German, looking anxious, glanced over at Feliciano, who said, "He's a marketing consultant."

Swirling his glass in his hand, Lovino sent Feliciano a look of annoyance and snipped, "Can Ludwig talk?"

Immediately, Feliciano's mouth snapped shut, and he looked absolutely mortified.

And so did Ludwig.

Good.

Weakly, Feliciano muttered, "Well. He's still learning. You know."

What little the man had spoken so far sounded coherent, if not a little weird on the pronunciation.

He suspected that it was not a lack of Italian that kept the man's tongue. He had a suspicion that Feliciano had said to him, before they had knocked on the door, 'Just let me do all the talking.'

Well, Feliciano was right in that aspect.

It was always a good idea to be mistrustful of him.

If the big blond idiot had opened his mouth, Lovino would certainly have done everything he could to embarrass him.

There was a long, tense silence, and Lovino was glad that they both suddenly looked very ready to go.

But he wasn't done yet.

Destruction of the evening hadn't been completed.

Leaning forward, he set his glass down, and said to the German, "Hey. So, which of you likes to be the giver, eh?"

A pause.

Feliciano looked absolutely stunned, but it was clear that the other had not understood what he was asking.

Simplifying his words, he added, "You know! Which of you likes to be on top? Who's the man?"

And then he was understood.

Feliciano's look was that of absolute horror, and Ludwig's reaction surprised him a little.

He expected someone like that, tall and well-built and clearly very masculine, to say, 'I am. What do you think?'

Instead, his pale face had flushed deep red, and he turned his head away in complete and utter humiliation, looking for all the world like he could have just fallen over dead on the floor.

He'd never seen anyone blush so bad.

Oh, well.

Let this be a lesson.

Never show up unannounced.

A thorough dose of humiliation was the only cure for this.

It worked; Feliciano pulled himself up to his feet, the blond leaping up quickly beside of him, and a very curt walk to the door began.

Feliciano snapped back, as he walked, "We'll try this again when you can stop being a dick for at least an hour."

Ouch.

With that, Feliciano ushered the German out, and slammed the door behind him so hard that it rattled.

They were gone.

Lovino sat there, alone, and tapped his foot on the floor.

They'd brought it on themselves.

He heard a car door slam from outside.

Standing up, he wandered over to the window and lifted up the blind with one finger, peering out below.

In the tiny driveway, Feliciano was sitting in his car, and even from where he stood Lovino could see him banging his fists down on the dashboard, and it was obvious that he was shouting his anger.

Beside of him, his German sat in the passenger's seat, and held his forehead in lingering embarrassment as he muttered away and shook his head.

Feliciano was mad as hell.

Probably screeching something that involved the words 'bastard', 'son of a bitch', and 'fuckin' insane'.

He'd heard it all.

He watched them interact, just because he could, and it took only a minute or so for Feliciano's fury to die down, and his hands fell into his lap as he sighed.

Never could stay mad.

Now Feliciano turned to look at his passenger, and the look on his face was that of remorse.

Lovino couldn't hear the words from all the way inside, but he got the gist of it.

Feliciano, apologizing for ever exposing anyone to his crazy brother.

The blond finally lowered his hand from his face, and looked a little morose.

Lovino stood there and spied on them, and when Feliciano reached out and took the man's hand up within his own, bringing it up and squeezing it to his chest in a sudden burst of clearly repentant affection, he scoffed to himself.

Feliciano was smiling again.

And as he watched them, the last thing he felt was _hate_.

Feliciano, always happy and always winning.

Feliciano was better at everything.

Even in the playing field of love.

Ludwig—or Ludovico or Ludvig or Luigi or Louis or whatever the hell his name was—was living proof.

They looked happy together.

And he _hated _that.

He hated himself more, that such a thing bothered him.

But he hated seeing Feliciano happy.

So many years of it, piling up.

He hated that Feliciano could salvage a fiasco like this, and yet _he_ couldn't even survive two consecutive Valentine's with Antonio.

Too much.

Not enough.

He was over at the door before he even realized it, and was suddenly walking down the drive.

He heard the engine start up, as Feliciano prepared a quick getaway.

To prevent it, Lovino held up a hand.

And he didn't really know _why _he stopped them then, and said, when Feliciano warily rolled down the window, "It was a bad day at work. Sorry. You know, it was kinda nice to have someone over. You should come by again next week. We'll make dinner again together."

An uneasy silence.

Feliciano and the German shared a look, and then Feliciano finally smiled, in relief and affection.

As if everything had been set right again.

Feliciano was so easy to please.

"Good to hear. Sure, we need to see each other more often."

Yeah.

Sure.

He made a bolder move, and leaned inside the car, holding out his hand, and the tall, handsome blond named Ludwig took it in mechanical politeness.

The first handshake.

Ludwig's hand was firm and fitting around his own.

Feliciano was beaming.

"Next Friday alright?"

"That's fine. See you then!"

He didn't really want to see them again.

At least not how they thought.

The car backed out of the drive, and they were gone.

Lovino watched the street long after they had vanished.

He didn't want to see them again.

Not together.

He was, however, very curious to pick apart this relationship and see exactly what it was that this man saw in Feliciano. It was an opportunity, perhaps, to see what was so much better about Feliciano than himself.

He loved Feliciano.

But he was _sick _of seeing him happy all the time. It was about time that his little brother had his fair share of misery.

Maybe he was just lonely.

Maybe he was bored.

Maybe he wanted someone to fight with.

Maybe he wanted to annoy them.

Maybe he wanted to drive them apart.

He'd run off Antonio without even trying.

Who said he couldn't run off Ludwig?

But, whatever possessed him that day to invite them back, one thing was very certain :

It hadn't exactly been magic the first time.

Ludwig had been an unwelcome annoyance.

An object that needed to be quickly disposed of.

He couldn't recall later on exactly when that had changed.

He should have known that, like so much else, this plan would backfire.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **: This may be the last time you see me until after the new year, in everything. (is crazy lazy)

**AlbinoKiwi** : Thank you! I usually don't plan stories out on a chapter-length basis, so I honestly have no idea. But it's safe to say it will be more than twenty. Maybe thirty? :\ We'll see, lol.

As always, thanks for reading and thanks so much for your kind words. You guys are way too nice to me sometimes. :D If you have a spare minute, I do enjoy to hear from you.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

The second time was much smoother than the first.

If 'smooth' was really an appropriate word.

It wasn't exactly a cozy, friendly dinner, but Lovino had spent the entire week actually bothering to clean his house and stock the shelves with edible items, and when Friday finally came, he stood in front of the mirror and smoothed down his messy hair and put on clothes that looked decent for at least this.

He looked alright.

Not on par with Feliciano and his immaculate ties, but he looked alright. Far better than he usually did, and anyone who actually knew him certainly would have asked what the occasion was.

When he looked as good as he was going to get, he dusted off the creaky old table and straightened the chairs, and just sat there as he waited for the knock on the door.

Waiting for company wasn't exactly something he was used to, and sitting there at that damn empty table only made him think about the days when Antonio had sat there on the other side, smiling at him over coffee and crooning those smooth words of poetic enchantment he had been so skilled at.

He wouldn't forget those words anytime soon, no matter how hard he tried.

Antonio had been a smooth-talker, that was for sure.

Lovino held his chin up in his hand, drummed his fingers upon the table, and wondered, just for a moment, where Antonio was now.

Ha; he'd probably already wandered his way over to Venice, wayfaring man that he was, and was fuckin' some blond bombshell in the surf. Muttering away the exact same words he had used once already on somebody else.

He would never say that he missed Antonio. He wouldn't ever say that he needed him, or that he had gotten used to him.

Even so.

He was a little lonely.

Hurt a little to think about, but it would have been absolutely naïve to believe that Antonio was huddled up in a motel somewhere, crying himself to sleep and plotting ways to come back.

Antonio wasn't coming back. Because Antonio probably wasn't the one that needed to apologize.

Well.

He certainly had no intentions of going on a cross-country mission to track down a man who rarely stayed in the same place twice just so that he could throw himself down on his knees and beg forgiveness for being a bastard. Like he'd have been able to say those words even if he had wanted to, and even if he managed, it would not change the fact that he would continue to remain a bastard.

Impossible.

Antonio was gone. Time to just forget about him.

Anyway, he had a way now to keep himself occupied, and that way finally came knocking.

"I'm coming."

Pulling himself up from the table, he swaggered over to the door, wrenched it open, and sure enough, there they were.

Feliciano and Ludwig.

It was an exceedingly unpleasant sight, like staring straight at the sun, but he held open the door and forced the thinnest of smiles all the same, even as Ludwig's white-blond hair caught in the sunlight and nearly blinded him.

"Come in."

They stood there for a moment, in quiet apprehension, and then Feliciano took the first step forward, and it was like the last time all over again : everyone settled in the kitchen, and he and Feliciano started to make dinner.

Ludwig sat at the table, looking just as out of place as he had the last time.

There hadn't been any handshake this time. Just a quick, polite nod.

He didn't feel like offering one, and Ludwig seemed fine with that.

"How was work?"

Feliciano smiled at him, and Lovino just looked over at him from time to time, as they worked in unison and tried to hold conversations. But even though he tried very hard not to personalize any of this, it was still a little hard not to notice the handsomely crooked nose on Feliciano's equally handsome face, and the handsome curve of his handsome neck leading up to perfect hair. Envy, his old friend, reared her head.

"...alright."

It was hard not to notice the way Feliciano had not completely secured his tie tonight, and the way the collar of his shirt fell open enough to make visible not only his collarbone, but also the smudges of purple that were mostly hidden beneath.

"That's good."

He could have turned around then, and used the hickey he had spied on Feliciano's neck to once again humiliate Ludwig into the dirt until his big, undoubtedly healthy German horse heart just stopped cold and he died of a damn coronary right there at the kitchen table.

He could have.

But he didn't.

Instead, he just lifted up his chin, pursed his lips, and didn't say a word.

Humiliating them again would only make them part ways from _him_, and not each other.

What was the point in that?

Obviously he was starting to make a little headway, because Feliciano would never have relaxed that tie unless he was comfortable, and the only reason he was so comfortable was because it had been Lovino who had actually extended an invitation to return.

In the eleven years since he had first left home, he had not once invited Feliciano over.

This was a huge deal.

Behind them, Ludwig sat completely still at the table, hardly breathing and probably memorizing the entire house to secure an emergency exit.

Keeping his voice very low, Lovino muttered to his brother, "I bet you two have _great_ conversations."

Sarcasm was his other great friend.

Feliciano snorted, and tossed a handful of onions into a pot.

"You'd be surprised."

"You're right," Lovino drawled back under his breath. "I would be."

Hell, he was already surprised that this silent idiot could possibly have been compatible with Feliciano and his constantly babbling mouth.

Weirdos.

Feliciano suddenly elbowed him in the ribs and leaned in to whisper, "Just give him a little alcohol. Then try to get to him to shut up."

Ugh.

Apparently, the thought of it was too much, and Feliciano burst into loud, helpless laughter at God only knew what. And he didn't _wanna_ know.

Lovino only shook his head, and barely kept the grimace in check.

If someone had asked him then, he couldn't have possibly expressed in words exactly what it was about these two that rubbed him the wrong way. They hadn't wronged him in any way. They hadn't taken from him any kind of happiness or time. They had never sought to cause him harm. They had never meddled in his business.

But they were content together, and maybe that was reason enough.

Whether he would ever admit it aloud or not, when he looked at Feliciano he saw everything he could have been if Feliciano had never been born.

And when he looked at Ludwig, he was looking at the faceless, nameless 'blond bombshell' that he could see in his mind lying next to Antonio in some bed somewhere.

Or maybe he saw Antonio when he looked at Ludwig.

Rather, he looked at both of them and saw this :

Him, had his parents loved him more, and Antonio. In a calm, stable, happy relationship.

Where everything was right in the world.

There was just one little problem.

When he blinked and looked again, it wasn't him. It was Feliciano.

And it wasn't Antonio. Just Ludwig.

The only logical conclusion to this problem was that Ludwig had to go, because otherwise he would never stop wondering why Ludwig stayed and Antonio had not.

Ah, Christ, he didn't make any fuckin' sense, even to himself, but whatever disjointed thoughts floated through his head, he was determined that this relationship would not survive until the new year.

For his sanity.

It wasn't Feliciano's fault, and it certainly wasn't Ludwig's. But someone had to suffer a little, and Ludwig was as good a target as any for his pent-up frustrations at himself.

Instead of wondering why he had once taken a bunch of flowers Antonio had presented to him and tossed them straight into the trashcan, it was easier to focus on how pitifully awkward Ludwig was.

Instead of trying to remember why he had once come home from work in a terrible mood and had decided that the only way to feel better was to start an argument and try to break down Antonio's self-confidence, it was easier to look at Ludwig and realize that his shoes did not match the sophistication of his clothes.

Life was a lot easier that way, just in simple things like that.

Like focusing on Ludwig's shoes.

Instead of turning his ill-temper towards himself, why not stare openly at Ludwig's scuffed shoes until the hapless German started fidgeting in his seat?

Growing up in a not-quite-wealthy-but-pretending-to-be family had taught him that the eyes may have been the window to a soul, but shoes were the window to an upbringing.

Ludwig may have worn expensive clothes, but his shoes were worn and old and cheap.

Couldn't change who you were just by putting on a suit.

He'd proven that conclusively, hadn't he? His parents had tried to mold him, but it hadn't ever taken.

Feliciano saw him staring, and saw Ludwig's squirming, and tried to divert his attention by directing him to the stove.

He obeyed, and gave Ludwig a reprieve.

For now.

The dinner started as awkwardly as the last one had.

Scraping of chairs and silverware, a sound not much missed since the last horrible family event years ago, and Lovino was not surprised when Feliciano tried over and over again to strike up conversations.

He engaged this time, and returned questions of his own.

Lovino could feel Ludwig peering over at him when he thought he wasn't looking, and Lovino ignored it because Ludwig was probably trying to brace himself for a repeat of the last experience.

There was no need now—he had every intention of behaving himself until the time was right.

The conversation was a little tense, at least until the food was gone and the wine came out (two bottles this time? Interesting), and once Feliciano had had a few glasses, he loosened up in his chair and started to address the more personal questions that Lovino posed him.

"So how long have you two known each other?"

"'Bout a year."

That long, huh?

"Good for you."

Feliciano smiled, and Ludwig stared at the table, hands tucked in his lap, as silent as always.

"Does his brother know?"

"Oh, yeah."

Feliciano drank wine like water. Ludwig, surely too wary to relax, had only one glass, and was always looking around.

Time passed.

Lovino changed conversation.

"How's mom?"

Feliciano watched him for a second, cheeks red and chin held up in his palm, and for a moment, Lovino could see the smile of fondness on his brother's face that they were sitting here talking like this after so long.

Feliciano loved him.

"Same as always," was the casual response, and Lovino turned his head when Ludwig suddenly stood up from the table, and quickly asked, in that odd accent, for permission to go to the bathroom.

Lovino just pointed down the narrow hall, and Ludwig was gone like smoke.

Well, even this big oaf had a sense of when there would be a terribly awkward conversation.

He could, perhaps, be thankful for that. Discussing their parents in front of a stranger was not something he would have done if given the choice, but Feliciano's answer had clearly not finished.

Feliciano looked over his shoulder, watching Ludwig until he was gone, and then he turned his hazy eyes back to Lovino and added, carefully, "She asks about you all the time, you know."

Did she?

"Whenever we talk, that's the first thing she says. 'Have you seen Lovino?' She worries about you. She asks if you sound alright on the phone. If you're eating enough. She really misses you, even if she won't say it. She sits by the phone all the time. I think she's waiting for you to call her."

Maybe she should have bothered to ask back when it had mattered.

Feeling no rush of longing or affection that Feliciano had no doubt expected him to, Lovino only poured himself another glass, and gave a short scoff.

As if he would call. She'd sit and wait forever.

Feliciano just watched him.

"And what about dad?"

The question wasn't about how his father was doing. The question had been whether or not his father asked about him, too.

And Feliciano's silence said it all.

He figured as much.

"You know," he finally muttered, lowly, "We really don't talk anymore. Since, then, you know."

Since the night Lovino had been disowned? How sweet, and completely unnecessary. Why would Feliciano risk being cut out of the will just because Lovino had been?

Idiot.

"How come?" he asked, and Feliciano looked back again.

Ludwig was still gone.

Feliciano's voice lowered into a hiss of a whisper.

"Because he asked me somethin' stupid."

"Oh?"

Feliciano shuttered this way and that in his chair, and then gave a strange laugh that was more like a scornful snort. "He called me a while back, after you'd fought, and he asked me if I wouldn't consider biting the bullet and trying to, ah, carry on the name, if you will."

Lovino was glad that at that moment, holding his chin in his hand prevented his mouth from falling open.

Feliciano finished off his glass, and added, "Had a girl picked out and everything!"

Old son of a bitch.

And it didn't surprise him at all that it had been Feliciano the old man had asked, and not him. When Feliciano was more handsome and better at everything, and would surely produce a better son.

"I guess you said 'no'."

Feliciano opened up the second bottle of wine, and said, "Actually, I told him what he could go do to himself. Ha. He hasn't talked to me but once since then."

For a second, as Lovino stared at Feliciano in disbelief, he felt _glad_.

He felt glad that Feliciano had finally gotten a little taste of what _his_ life was like.

And yet, for all of that, there was the fact that his father still talked to Feliciano, however infrequently.

So it wasn't the same.

Feliciano still held a place in his parents' hearts that he would never occupy.

They might have talked more, but Ludwig finally came out of the bathroom then, and the conversation ended.

Soon after, so did the dinner.

Lovino was glad to see them heading towards the door.

As they left, Ludwig lingering behind just outside the doorframe in the glow of the streetlamp, Feliciano turned back to look at him, face red in intoxication, and his smile was sloppy as he said, "Say, we're goin' to see an opera, ah, next Saturday night, down in Milan! I bet I could get you a ticket. Why don't you come with us?"

Ludwig shifted his weight a little.

"I'd really like to spend more time with you like this. We had a good night tonight, Lovino. That's been a long time missing, wouldn't you say?"

Oh, how long it had been since he'd heard that tone in Feliciano's voice. The deep, reverberating notes that caught in his throat in absolute earnestness, the emphasis he put on words that evoked the most feeling, consonants lost to the universe, and the way it somehow sounded like everything he'd ever wanted.

The way brothers were supposed to talk to each other.

And yet...

Sometimes, everything meant nothing.

With a ,"Hm!", Lovino turned his eyes over to spare a quick observation at Ludwig, who had reached up to brush down his collar in what was clearly anxiety.

Ludwig did not like Feliciano's random proposals.

And, well, opera was probably nice, maybe even good if he'd give it a chance, but in all honesty he'd rather just sit at home and watch the television static or go down into the town and observe the architecture of the cathedral.

Feliciano's interests were not his own, and Ludwig was put off, so he declined.

Politely.

"No, thanks. I've gotta work that day, anyway. I wouldn't have time to get ready."

"Ah."

Ludwig's well-being certainly wasn't a concern, but the table had not yet been set to drive him off. Until the opportunity presented itself, it was better to tread lightly, and keep in good standing. If he made a wrong step in front of Feliciano, then there would not be another chance to see them.

Ludwig seemed a little relieved that he had said 'no', and Lovino could see the way his shoulders dropped and his brow raised up a little.

He couldn't really blame him—who would ever want a weird and crazy brother tagging along on a date? And a date was no doubt what it was. As he stood there and thought about it, he couldn't even _imagine _inviting Feliciano along on one of the rare moments he and Antonio had gone out about the town.

Feliciano had no sense.

No sense.

But, snubbed or no, Feliciano nodded his head all the same, reached out to clap Lovino on the shoulder, and then he turned and staggered down to the car, where Ludwig slipped into the driver's seat.

And Lovino just watched them from the doorframe, and waited.

Let Feliciano enjoy his night at the opera with Ludwig, because if he had his way there not be any more of them.

Good things were not meant to last.

He waited.

The Friday after next, a dinner date was set again.

He looked forward to it.

The third time was a charm, right?

He was inching his way into their confidence, and once he was there, it was so much easier to cause destruction from within rather than chip away from the outside.

But damn; when they were gone, everything went back into that same old static staleness.

Like walking in sand in the middle of the night.

It was better to keep his mind occupied. Maybe when he finally managed to run Ludwig off, he'd just spend the rest of his life chasing after Feliciano and maybe sure that he didn't ever make it with _anyone_.

A sad life, sure, but better than none at all.

He'd have something to do.

Always waiting.

The time dragged by until they came over again.

A cool day.

Fall was near.

It had been three weeks to the day that he had seen Ludwig for the first time.

And, apparently, in three weeks a lot could change.

This time when they came, there were little changes that meant much more than they appeared. Feliciano's tie had disappeared completely, and Ludwig had procured new shoes.

Maybe not as dumb as Lovino assumed him.

As they sat down to yet another awkward meal, Feliciano suddenly looked over at him, and said, "Guess what? I got Ludwig a job!"

Joy.

Feigning interest, he asked, "Where at?"

"Dad's old company. It's nothing much. Just a little manual labor here and there when they need it. But, hey, better than nothing, right?"

Ludwig spared him a glance, and quickly looked away the second their eyes actually met.

Holding his sharp tongue, Lovino only came back with a quick, "I thought you said you didn't want him to get a job here?"

"No," Feliciano said, "I said I didn't want him to get a permanent job. But, well. It looks like he might be staying here for a while longer, so..." He looked over at Ludwig, and the look of open affection could have very well made Lovino sick.

Ludwig cleared his throat a little.

"That's great," he finally drawled.

Feliciano smiled away the rest of the evening, and Lovino pulled out a bottle of top-shelf vodka that he had splurged on at the last second, if only for a good impression in Feliciano's eyes.

It worked.

Feliciano didn't spurn a glass this time around like he had the cheap stuff.

Ludwig didn't either, and when Lovino filled up the tiny glasses and pushed them forward, he watched Ludwig's stiff, anxious movements, and wondered if it bothered Ludwig that these two men sat here at this table and talked about him in a language he was not entirely fluent in.

It must have.

It would bother anyone.

No wonder Ludwig brought the vodka up and put it back in a split-second, and he didn't even wince.

Stress.

Lovino sat there, like a praying mantis, keeping still in his seat except for when glasses needed refilling, and he always made sure that he kept a good eye on those around him until it was time to strike.

It didn't take long for it to happen.

The un-eventfulness of the second dinner made contact with Ludwig finally possible.

Feliciano, put off guard, left the room, assuming it was 'safe' to do so.

Idiot. He shoulda known better than that.

Then again, it might not have happened if Feliciano hadn't had seven shots of strong vodka, and Ludwig four.

They were subdued, and unawares.

It was easy to catch Ludwig alone, the second that Feliciano stepped out.

And as it turned out, as big and intimidating as Ludwig was, he didn't say a word that first time that Lovino reached out a belligerent hand and shoved him back against the wall.

It was easy.

Feliciano went out to his car for the 'grand finale'—surely some expensive wine or champagne that he wanted to use to top off the taste of vodka—and the second that the door closed, Lovino made his move.

It was a perfect opportunity.

A perfect setting.

Feliciano was very nearly drunk, far beyond just tipsy, and when someone was that far along it took them a long time to get anything done—even a simple walk down a short flight of stairs and a shorter drive took an exorbitant amount of time.

It would take a few minutes.

Feliciano had probably stopped halfway down the steps to make sure he crawled down them at a pace that would not result in him taking a dive forward and cracking his skull open on the pavement below.

So he had plenty of time.

Ludwig stood up from the table, and asked, always so politely, for permission to use the bathroom.

This time, Lovino stood up, as if to show him the way, even though he had been in there once before.

"Come on. This way."

Ludwig fell still, looking around the room in what could have been distress, but he quickly straightened up his shoulders and then set his jaw, and when Lovino took the first step down the hall, he followed.

The light of the kitchen seemed a million miles away in the tiny, narrow hallway, dim and very bland, and Ludwig's footsteps were heavy enough to make the cheap boards creak from underneath the carpet. The air was cold, as the night was on high, and it was certainly a rather unnerving scene for Ludwig.

In a dark, secluded, cramped hallway, in a strange house with a strange man in a strange country.

Sounded more like a horror movie, and Lovino couldn't really be anything but understanding when Ludwig started to trail behind him more and more to keep a distance.

It had only been half a minute or less since Feliciano had stepped out.

To Ludwig, it surely felt much longer.

Shadows on the walls.

Ludwig was nervous.

Lovino could see it there, on his face, when he stopped short and whirled around, and said, "Here."

The hesitation, the shifting of his shoulders, the sharpness of his brow and the pursing of his lips, and after a terrible silence, Ludwig finally took a step forward with a deep, muttered, "Thanks."

But he didn't make it into the bathroom.

As soon as he was within arms reach, Lovino had moved.

The stillness was shattered.

He would never forget that look on Ludwig's face when he struck out like a cobra and grabbed his shirt by the collar and shoved him back into the wall.

Pure shock. Absolute disbelief.

Nearly comical in its earnestness.

Ludwig was stunned.

And why not?

The last meeting had gone well enough to where there would _never _have been any expectation of all at violence, and surely Ludwig had assumed by now that Lovino had just accepted him.

That maybe he might get looks of distaste, but never this.

Ludwig stared at him, those impossibly pale eyes very piercing even in this dim light, and he opened his mouth as if to shout at him, but nothing ever really came out.

So Lovino took the opportunity to speak instead.

"What are you doing out here, huh? What are you doing with him? Of all the goddamn people you could picked in this entire fuckin' country, how come you picked _him_? Huh? What do you think you're doing?"

Ludwig's eyes, for all of the evading at the table, were locked very intently onto his own.

His breathing was loud in the quiet hallway.

Lovino shook him a little, when he remained completely silent, and then Ludwig finally broke his unrelenting gaze to look over at the door in a moment of gut-wrenching anxiety.

Looking for Feliciano.

Feliciano was still outside.

Help was not coming. Not yet.

Ludwig probably only understood about half of what was being said to him, but that didn't induce any sympathy; he'd picked the wrong family to wedge himself into.

And this was just how it was going to happen.

He dug his heels into the floor and pressed Ludwig back into the wall so hard he was surprised the poor bastard could even breath at all.

"Don't think I'm an idiot. You after his money, or something? You're not foolin' me, you don't belong in these clothes. Why don't you go back where you came from and find someone else? I don't wanna see you and him together again, got it? Go somewhere else. He doesn't need anyone like you."

He played off the role of concerned brother, when in all actuality he was the farthest thing from.

But it seemed the best way to go, to get Ludwig to start rethinking this relationship he had found himself in. Weren't awful families the main reason most relationships failed, anyway?

He didn't know a thing about Ludwig. Not a thing.

He just spouted whatever came to mind, and said it a harsh tone that made it sound like he very much believed it.

Ludwig might have been the greatest guy on the planet.

Didn't matter.

"Leave my brother alone. Don't see him anymore, you understand me? Stay away from him. If I see you and him together again, you're gonna regret it. I don't play games, and you don't wanna try."

Silence.

It couldn't have been two minutes.

Hardly a confrontation. There was no argument. No screaming.

He hissed and whispered quiet threats, and Ludwig didn't move a muscle.

He just stood there.

Didn't even open his mouth.

Lovino had prepared himself for a punch to the nose, going so far as to square his shoulders and dig his heels into the carpet so that he wouldn't fall back when the fight that good-sized Ludwig would offer finally came.

But it never did.

Ludwig just stood there, back against the wall and stance so tense that he coulda been a twitch away from seizing up and tottering over like a wooden plank, and he stared at Lovino with a strange expression that no amount of eloquence could ever put into words.

Not angry.

Hardly intimidated.

Far from frightened.

He couldn't really even describe what he saw there, as he clenched handfuls of Ludwig's shirt and shoved him back into the flimsy drywall.

It was odd.

A strange mottling of resignation and the tiniest traces of something that seemed like sadness, a twinge of alarm, and underneath it all an almost eerie kind of patience. Almost like Ludwig was looking at a little kid that was throwing a tantrum.

This was no tantrum.

This had been a threat, a physical lashing out and the promise of further violence.

And yet Ludwig made no move to retaliate.

Well.

He hadn't expected _that_.

He'd expected Ludwig to reach out and shove him, to strike out, to throw back words of equal malice, or maybe he had expected him to break free and then just stalk off in a huff.

Had Ludwig had even half a mind to, he could have easily knocked Lovino out cold with one well-placed punch.

But he just stood there, and didn't say a word.

Not a word.

Just stared at him.

His father would have knocked his block off by now. Antonio would have broken free of him and then slapped him across the face, however gently. Even Feliciano would have taken a shot at him and tried his damn best to give him a black eye.

This guy stood still, and silent.

How strange.

Must have been because of Feliciano. If he weren't Feliciano's brother, Ludwig would have decked him.

Still...

In that odd moment, as he wondered exactly what was going to happen and if Ludwig would heed his word, it crossed his mind that this was the second time he had touched Ludwig. A far cry from the genial handshake from the very first time, and now instead of offering a hand in greeting, the tips of his boots were pressed into Ludwig's, and his knuckles dug into Ludwig's neck as he kept the death-grip upon his collar.

He smelled, for the first time, an unusual, but not unpleasant, cologne.

Ludwig's face was red with alcohol and adrenaline.

He heard the car door slam suddenly from outside, and looked over.

For a moment, then, Ludwig's hands raised up in the air, lingering just above Lovino's wrists as though the instinct had finally kicked in to break away. But in the end, his hands just fell back down at his sides, and he stared down at Lovino with that same expression, and Lovino could feel his pulse racing in his neck as he no doubt tried to figure out what to do.

What could Ludwig really do? Take a swing at him, and worry about Feliciano's reaction?

Feliciano might not have taken kindly to anyone harming his brother.

At least, for all Ludwig knew.

Lovino suspected he would not win outright against Ludwig.

The doorknob jingled as Feliciano twisted it, and Lovino snatched his hands back and released Ludwig's shirt, and the whole thing was over as quickly and randomly as it had begun.

Quickly, very quickly, Ludwig reached up to smooth down the wrinkles in his clothes as Feliciano came back inside, and Lovino made his way back towards the kitchen.

"Hey!" came the bleary cry from within, "Where'd you guys go?"

He could heard Ludwig following.

Well, time would tell if Ludwig made a scene or not.

When Feliciano was in sight, Lovino said, "I was just showing him to the bathroom."

Feliciano was too tipsy to notice any oddness in that statement, and just smiled, as he held up a bottle of champagne.

"Look what I brought!"

"That's great," he said, quickly, and he looked over when Ludwig stepped back into the kitchen, cheeks a bit red and looking suddenly disheveled.

Feliciano didn't even notice, the big dummy.

The pop of the cork didn't draw his eyes away from Ludwig, who stood there as still as a statue and refused to even glance his way, hands tucked into his pockets.

Probably trembling from adrenaline.

Feliciano sent them each a look, as they stood there very silently, and then he asked, "What is it?"

Lovino shook his head, impervious, and Ludwig opened his mouth.

A breath away from telling it as it was.

But he choked, like before, and Feliciano just lowered his eyes back to the bottle and started pouring glasses, and when he brought Lovino one, he shoved the glass into his hand and then leaned forward to place a friendly kiss on his cheek.

"I got this just for you! I know you'll like this one."

And those words, and that quick kiss of adoration, settled the whole thing.

Lovino looked over, and it was almost amazing the way Ludwig's face fell.

And when Feliciano placed a warm hand on the back of Lovino's neck and pressed their foreheads together in an intoxicated desire for brotherly love, Ludwig's shoulders fell, too.

That was it.

He shut his mouth, turned his eyes to his feet, and didn't say a thing.

Holding his peace.

Lovino could feel the smile creeping up, and he hid it by lifting his chin to kiss Feliciano upon the forehead.

Feliciano said, immediately, "I love you, Lovino. These weeks have been so great. Please, let's not ever fall out again."

Ludwig looked like he coulda just died.

Trapped.

If Ludwig hadn't been able to open his mouth to defend himself, how could Ludwig ever tell Feliciano what Lovino had said to him, after Feliciano professed such love?

It seemed unlikely Ludwig would risk a fight with blood after such words, and indeed, when Feliciano handed him a glass, he just gave a weak, pale smile, and quickly turned his eyes back down to the floor.

Checkmate.

As long as Ludwig thought that Feliciano adored Lovino far too much to ever believe he had said such things, then there was no problem.

When Feliciano looked away to get himself a drink, Lovino raised his glass up to his lips, and tasted absolute victory.

And it tasted pretty damn good.

Ludwig didn't utter a word for the rest of the night, and didn't look up at either of them until they left right before the sunrise.

Lovino was sure that only one confrontation would be needed, and that this was the beginning of the end of this whirlwind love story.

Shame that Ludwig's patience extended to far more than he had anticipated.


End file.
